


In Dust and Cloud

by bakuracult



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakuracult/pseuds/bakuracult
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Saint Seiya drabbles from both Classic and The Lost Canvas. Non-pairing collection. </p>
<p>
  <i>How silent are your saints?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The lights are on;</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Oh I have waited at these gates</i>
  <br/>
  <i>For far too long.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He stood at the top of the steep cliff as the wind whistled and stung his cold cheeks, gazing out into the Siberian sunset, looking for nothing in particular. The colors melted into the snow, glittering like stars on the lakes of ice. Everything was always silence here. Had it not been for he and his two small students, both barely nine now, Camus imagined a place like this would be forgotten in time. No words spoken, nothing to remember. Only an imprint of reality in the face of time. The thought of a place so important in its small way made him feel melancholy, if he were ever honest about his feelings. 

If he could be thankful for anything in the experience of being raised a child soldier and enduring, it was these precious moments when he could breathe deeply and close his eyes as the sun warmed his face, littered with frozen crystals and stained pink. He was never one for escapism, finding it a nuisance to be a daydreamer when more important matters pressed into his life. However, he supposed when no one needed to be saved, a book or a silent moment couldn't hurt terribly. 

Camus sighed, looking at the valley below one final time, only to turn around at the yellow, sun-bathed view of two walking growing pains scuttling towards him through three feet of powdery snow. He frowned.

“Have you finished your evening regim—” Said small bodies collided with his, almost knocking him backwards as they giggled with a childlike innocence so foreign to them lately. They grew up quickly.

“Master!” Hyoga chirped, arms wrapped around his master’s waist tightly. “Happy birthday!” They both said in cheerful unison. Isaac joined the other in the hug, even if he seemed a bit more shy about the affections. It always came out in the dead of night when storms ravaged both landscape and fragile, crimeless heart. 

The boy, for Camus was still a boy even if he was seventeen today, raised a brow. They did this last year and the year before and it always surprised Camus, even if Hyoga assured him birthdays were always to be celebrated, Isaac following suit to agree. He’d brush them off and tell them it was fine if they briefly celebrated theirs, only after they’d finished their training for the day. The boys insisted his was also worth the fuss.

After a few moments of silence, Camus finally shook his head, his red hair looking more orange in the sunset’s bright painted colors. A smile so small most would miss it graced his chapped lips, and he gently patted each of their backs. 

“Thank you, boys.”

Thinking back to his earlier pondering, surely the landscape was enough to take one’s breath away, with the rolling mountains and brilliantly sparkling diamond dust, but Camus knew this, these two, were the best thing to come out of this life. For once, he had a family. A real one.


	2. Genesis of Aquarius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief exert on my personal pre-training, pre-sainthood Camus. This is entirely of my own creation, and I claim no canon ties.

It’s two am, and Maman hasn’t come home yet, but your brother smells like brandy while he dozes, snoring, off on the living room sofa. You’ve always thought it was unpleasant, the scent. Once, you told him you didn’t like it and got backhanded for complaining too much. When you didn’t like the cigarettes, you kept your mouth shut. Maman also used to say that in your earliest memories, you asked too many questions through garbled toddler talk. You always wanted to know everything, varieties of language laid out of flimsy paper, but they didn’t have books except for your brother’s old fairy tales. You only sort of liked those. They were the only thing to read, though you couldn’t read much. You tried anyway, it was the only thing to do to cultivate learning.

Papa stopped taking you to school. He was gone, after all. 

Sometimes, the floor smelled like smoke when you laid your cheek on the wood, listening to the quarreling downstairs from the apartment’s loft. Sometimes you wondered if they planned to fight every Tuesday and Friday evening. When you asked, because you still asked questions no matter what Maman said every once in awhile, she’d always try to smile too wide and say they weren’t fighting, just discussing. But her eyes never crinkled, while her shoulders hunched.

 

It’s three am and there’s a knock at the door. You’ve been told never to answer it unless you get the signal from your brother or you’d get a spanking, because it was dangerous to talk to strangers. He was older, so he made the rules. You didn’t like his rules much. He always told you to stand in the corner when you wanted to eat something other than toast or badly cooked meat. Sometimes you thought he yelled too much.

Last week he took you out to see an execution. He had said they were going to do away with it soon, so you should get a good look.You always blinked at the right time, but you still heard the schwelching sound, and saw the places where the spine separated from the head. You almost threw up, but your brother slapped your back and told you to stop being a baby.

 

The knocks grew louder. You’re curious now, if it’s one of your brother’s friends. He often invited over friends while Maman was working. You frown, and hope it isn’t, since your brother always told you to stand in the kitchen corner or to stay in your room and wait until his friend left when they came over. You fell asleep in that corner every once in awhile, and Maman would lift you up in her arms when she returned from work. Those were some of the happiest moments you can remember, being in her arms.

You look up to the rickety, old door when you hear mumbling on the other side of the door. You’re scared without Maman, or even your brother, but you slowly creep towards the noises. Deep voices. When you get close enough you hear words, you don't understand them. Another language?

The knocks come again, making you jump, but continue forward. You reach to unhook the door, being just tall enough now, and slide it open, looking out with one eye.

A boy older than you, offers a smile. His hair is a strange color of navy, billowed around him. It looks soft. Salvation was in front of you, though you wouldn’t know until later, when he would wrap his arm around you, and tell you to go pack your things with a warmness you would never forget, but notice when it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, capital punishment was still a thing in France when Camus was a child. It was taken away in 1981. Depending on the crime, the usual means were decapitation or a firing squad.


	3. The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aphrodite learns to be cutthroat.

“That’s the difference between you and I,” the other boy drawled, “you’re barely able to stand up now. How could you possibly think to become a saint?”  
Aphrodite, young legs shaking under his weight, stared at the trainee opposite of him, the ring leader amidst terrified underlings. Every morning, they would do this, and every morning, he would fight and fall. He had a point, though Aphrodite hated admitting it. The inadequacy filled his lungs like smoke he never wanted to breathe in, threatening to trample every ounce of drive he held within himself. It was frustrating being taken down so easily.

But it was why he trained as rigorously as he did. At some point, he had decided exactly what he wanted to do, and why.

_Effortless._

Aphrodite wanted to be effortless.

The trainee snorted. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle it?”

“Watch me.” Aphrodite hissed, and he lunged.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thanks for reading this, despite it being a bit dated. I'll be putting any quick, non-pairing related Saint Seiya drabbles here.


End file.
